Chapter 9
Sinclair
Sensations creep up my fingers, my arms. I snap my eyes open and bright light sears my retinas. A noise from somewhere nearby sends alarm racing through me. I blink, try to rise, and pain slices through my head. "Bloody hell."
I gasp, try to push against the pain, and the thud-thud-thud in my brain ratchets up to a wailing scream. "Jesus." I collapse back; sweat beads my brow.
"Relax," a woman's voice says, "you're at the hospital."
"Hospital?" I grind out, digging my fingers into the fabric under my hands—which I now assume are sheets. "What the hell happened?" I touch my forehead, my fingers brush the bandage there. Pain shudders down my spine and I wince.
Something hit me. No, someone. Bastard hit me from behind.
The bastard didn't have the courage to show me his face. Well, no shit, if I'd caught sight of his features, he’d be dead. You can bet I won’t stop until I’ve tracked him down.
The pain seems to intensify even further.
I grit my teeth, draw in a breath, then another.
"I'll call the nurse, I am sure she'll be able to get you painkillers—"
"No," I bite out, "no painkillers." No way, am I going to allow myself to be helpless again.
"aspirin, then?" The woman's voice is matter of fact, ”Surely, that's allowed?"
I turn to the woman, who's seated in a chair near the bed. She's wearing a stylish if practical skirt and jacket. The gray that streaks her hair is a contrast to her youthful features. There's an air of authority to her that reminds me of my own mother...before she died.
"Who're you?" I snap.
"She saved your life, you asshole." Saint turns from the window. Bastard's freshly shaven, wearing a suit and tie. He looks as put together as I feel on death's door.
"What are you doing here and why the hell are you all suited up?" I growl.
"I see being beaten up has done wonders for your disposition. Not." He smirks, "I came to make sure you were still alive... which clearly you are." He looks me up and down, "Barely. And I'm on my way to the pitch with our investors, remember?"
Of course. The most important meeting of my life and I am laid up in bed. I struggle to sit up, and sparks flash behind my eyes.
"Shit," I collapse back again, "the hell is wrong with me?"
"Umm, maybe it has something to do with the fact that your face got intimate with the fists of strangers?" Saint chuckles, and the sound sends another burst of pain ricocheting through my skull.
"Fuck, I'm dying." I draw in a breath and the scent of disinfectant fills my nostrils. If hell were a place, surely, it would smell the same. "I need to get out of here."
"I'll get the nurse." The woman rises to her feet.
"No." I grit my teeth against the pain, "No painkillers. No aspirin. I'll be fine."
She narrows her gaze on me, then shrugs, "Suit yourself."
And somehow the tone in which she says it, makes me feel like I did something wrong. Shit.
"Who are you again?" I glower at her.
"Meredith." She sits back down in the chair. "Meredith Vincent." She tilts her head. "I called the ambulance, which arrived at the same time as your friends."
"If she'd found you a minute later, you could have been dead. Those bastards tried to kill you."
"I'd like to see them try." I snort, then wince when more pain flashes through my head.
"When I get my hands on the bastards who did this, I'm going to—"
Saint clears his throat. I stare at him, and he frowns at me, then side-eyes Meredith.
Right. "—I'm going to, ah, teach them a lesson."
"I hope you hand their arses to them," Meredith says coolly.
I blink.
Saint snorts.
"For a middle-aged woman, you sure speak tough," I grumble.
"I do more than that. I haven't come this far in life without holding my own in trying situations, you know?"
"Who do you think did this?" Saint scratches his chin.
I shoot him a glance, "Who do you think?"
He stares back and I know he's thinking the same thing as me. Were the people behind the incident the same ones who beat me up?
Saint shuffles his feet. “I gotta get moving, man, don’t want to be late for this meeting."
Meredith narrows her gaze on me, "I believe you also owe me something else, young man."
"Huh?" I blink, "What do you mean?"
She merely arches an eyebrow and the back of my neck heats.
"Well?" She taps her foot, "I'm waiting."
Right. the last time someone had spoken to me in that no-nonsense tone was my mother. Then she'd died, thanks to the stress brought on by a son who'd gotten kidnapped, then getting himself into all kind of trouble on the streets.
I glance down at the sheets, then back at her. "Thank you," I mutter, "I appreciate what you did."
"You're welcome." Meredith nods, then turns to Saint, "Don't you have to be somewhere?"
Saint straightens. "Umm, yes Ma'am, but Sinner here—"
"I'll drive him home."
"No need." I glower. "I can bloody well take care of my—" I swing my legs over the side of the bed. My feet hit the floor and I lurch up to standing. The world tilts. I grab the edge of the bed, stabilize myself,
She quirks an eyebrow, "Still think you can drive yourself?"
Maybe not. I blow out a breath.
Saint glances between us. "Guess I'd better be going then."
He pivots to leave, then pauses, "Uh, Sinclair?"
"What?" I snap.
"You may want to make sure you don't flash your arse at the world."
"What the—" I straighten, start toward him, when a cold breeze hits my backside. Shit, he wasn't kidding; he'd literally meant that my arse was bare... Because it is... Bare and hanging out for all to see, through my gaping bloody hospital gown.
Meredith chuckles. She points over to the corner where I spot a paper bag. "Your clothes are in there."